


North Star

by stilastarla



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, North star - Freeform, Older Woman/Younger Man, Slow Burn, guiding star - Freeform, not that much older actually, nothing happens until everyone is of legal age!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilastarla/pseuds/stilastarla
Summary: Before he knew Frank, Billy Russo had you. And that made all the difference in his life.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Because Ben Barnes aka Bin Bons has done such a fantastic job with this twisted character, I felt Billy could have been saved if he had known someone before his narcissistic tendencies became a part of his personality. If you've watched Daredevil 3, the title is a reference to that.

The first time you met Billy, you were pulling Arthur Walsh off of him and screaming at the top of your lungs for him to get away from the kid. And then you bloodied his nose when he didn’t take the hint. You were seventeen, armed with the baseball bat Billy had scrawled his name on, more angry than scared. And you had a handphone which you were using to call the cops while you waved the bat menacing with one hand. “Yeah, you better run you bastard!” you yelled as Arthur hightailed it right out of Billy’s room. 

Tears streaked Billy’s face but his eyes were downright feral as he watched you, laboured breaths lifting his lips, creating the impression of a snarl. He actually did when you came towards him. Stopping in your tracks, you tried to wipe Walsh’s blood on the leg of your pants while stooping slowly to lay the bat down. On the other end of the line, the officer finally picked up your call and listened as you reported the attack. 

When the other kids came crowding at the door, you shooed them away, standing guard until the police came. Since Billy was only eleven, and you were one of three volunteers who were on duty to watch the kids while the director of the home was out of town, you followed Billy to the hospital, waited while the doctor set his arm, listened to the nurse as she passed you medicine and a list of what he could and could not do. Then you sat with him in the room while the officers took his statement.

“They’ll get him,” was the first sentence you said to Billy and you always remembered those dark eyes, full of distrust, full of hurt that went deeper than physical pain. “It takes time but it will be alright.”

“Yeah, because you know so much about this, right?” Billy had snapped back at you through his teeth and you knew to shut up, even though you did know what it was like to fear a man whom you’d given your trust to. But you’d been a kid then and now you were…seventeen, practically an adult, especially compared to Billy. And you’d skipped a year in high school so you were now in college.That had to count for something. 

Later, when the cops told you that Walsh couldn’t be found and was probably trying to get out of the city, you felt like you’d really opened your mouth and put your foot in it. So much for the cops getting Arthur, you’d thought while relaying the news to Billy who was trying his best not to look terrified and doing a very good job at failing. “You locked the windows?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. 

“Got your baseball bat?”

“No.” That surprised you until he continued. “Ar…he gave it to me and I don’t want it anymore.”

“Hmm.” There weren’t locks on the bedroom doors, just in case the kids got into fights. And you could tell from the way he had the blankets bunched around him and the stiff set of his face that there was no way Billy Russo was going to get any rest tonight. Or probably for a long time. “Tell you what, I’m gonna be right down the hallway, at the table near the stairs. Sam’s on night duty but an extra pair of eyes can’t hurt.” The stairs was the only way up to the bedrooms and while you doubted Walsh would be dumb enough to come back, Billy might think otherwise and you wanted him to know he was safe. 

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up as you closed the door and left. But about an hour later, you heard the telltale creak of an opening door and looked up to see Billy Russo looking down the hallway to see if you were still there. Three hours later, while you were sipping coffee and annotating your secondhand copy of Macbeth, he did it again. 

And that was basically how you spent all the nights of the next month until finally, the police called to say they’d found Walsh but he had run and gotten into an accident. A van mowed him down and he was dead before he reached the hospital. 

“Good,” Billy clenched his jaw, grinding out the word. Then he looked at you, as if expecting some kind of rebuke.

“What goes around comes around,” you shrugged. Then you smiled from the doorway of his room, always mindful not to enter unless Billy said you could, which he hadn’t, despite his consistency at making sure that you were standing guard each night. “I hope you sleep better tonight.” 

You turned away, about to leave when Billy cleared his throat loudly. “You’re..ah..you’re not going to be outside, are you?”

You had several deadlines coming up, a social life that had ground to a halt and eyes with dark rings that could probably rival a panda’s. “Would you like me to be?”

Billy hesitated, then scowled. “Nah.”

Inwardly, you bit back a grin. And that night, you were there. You were staring off towards the left, focusing on the spiral of the stairs and thinking of all the times your dad had come raging up the stairs at home when Billy waved a hand in your face and you jumped back so hard you fell off the chair and ended up sprawled on the ground. “What the hell Billy,” you muttered, glaring at the grinning boy as you picked yourself up. You hadn’t even heard him coming.

“What’s this?” He held up the play. “Macbeth? Sounds boring.”

“Sounds Scottish,” you corrected. “You might like it. Full of betrayal, blood, gore, witches and bitches.” That last part came out before you could zip your loose lips. Your discomfort must have shown because Billy gave a small laugh that might have been less disconcerting if he had taller, less pale, less thin, less of a child with the eyes of an adult. 

“I won’t tell Mr Fairs if you won’t. Hell Y/N, you’re the only one in this place who actually hasn’t said “fuck”.”

“Just trying to set a good example, regardless of whether it works or not.” Then it was your turn to chuckle. “Come on, let me introduce you to three witches.” Sliding the book to the middle of the table so that Billy could see it too, you flipped to the first page and began to read aloud. 

And as you expected, you hadn’t gotten past the fifth page before Billy pillowed his head on one outstretched arm and predictably, fell asleep.


	2. Growing Pains

"Hey Kid," you murmured at Billy, shooting him a quick smile before your eyes went back to your laptop. You were pretty much done with your essay assignment and basking in the early glow of knowing you were going to ace it. Not that you hadn't put in the requisite effort, you thought, eyeing the double stack of books that numbered fifteen. Billy ran a quick finger over the spines, letting out a low whistle. 

"Hey yourself Genius." He threw himself into the chair opposite yours, dropping his own stack of work to be done. 'Genius' was his nickname for you, ever since he found out you'd skipped a year and refused to skip another because you'd been afraid of not fitting in with your peers. 'Kid' was his, a natural reference to Billy the Kid, fastest draw in the wild west. Except that this Billy had the fastest mouth this side of the city, probably, and it got him into and out of tons of trouble. "You done for the night?"

"Not until you are." You raised your cup of cold coffee at him in a mock toast and your reward was a sweet smile from Billy before he opened his textbook, armed with a pen and highlighter. It was a sight that once upon a time, would have been considered impossible. 

Two years into that encounter with Walsh and you were still staying late some nights, still watching over Billy but in a different way. "Extraordinarily bright", "very talented", "more smarts than he knows what to do with" were just some of the compliments Billy's teachers paid him, though that last one was clearly backhanded. But Billy was barely passing his exams and not bothering to finish most assignments. "School is boring," he had complained. Apparently, Billy's idea of entertaining himself was to get into scraps with older tougher boys who left him with bloodied lips, bruises and the occasional black eye. Sometimes he gave as good as he got, sometimes he didn't. 

No amount of nagging or advice was going to change Billy Russo's mind once he had made it up. So instead, you resorted to bribery of a kind. You'd taken him to a gym run by an ex-Marine who also offered self-defence classes and made him sit there through a session. "Wanna start going for classes?" you asked him once the session was over. You knew what the answer was, the boy was practically incandescent with interest. 

"I can't afford that."

"Yes you can." You fell easily in step with Billy as you made your way back to the home. On the way you stopped for ice-cream and noted that finally, Billy stopped hesitating when it came to an adult offering him a treat or a gift. Arthur Walsh had done some number on him and you only hoped one day he would realise not every grown up had perverse ulterior motives. "You start handing in your homework and passing your tests, and I'll pay for self-defence classes."

"I knew there was a catch," Billy rolled his eyes, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans, the other holding onto his ice-cream cone while he tried not to eat it too quickly. "You guys are soooo predictable."

"Hey, if you want unconditional love, go to church. And even then, the priest will tell you to sin no more," you arched a brow at him, taking a messy lick of your strawberry ice-cream as it began melting down the sides of the cone. "I think you need to ask why the catch is there and what purpose it serves."

"So that I won't fuck my future up. So that I can get good grades and go to college. Like you." There was an edge to the last part, he made it sound like an epithet.

"So that you can have choices. You can still mess that up if you want to. But don't ever say you didn't have a choice or that life screwed you over. Just to be clear that whatever happens, that's on you."

Billy let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Life did screw me over, Y/N. My mum dumped me at a fire-station. Yours waits for you at home with dinner once she gets back from work."

You were at a corner from the home and gathering your courage, you stopped walking. Two steps in, Billy realised you stopped and pivoted on his heel. With a start, you realised just how tall he was getting; you barely had three inches on him. "Did you ever think it was a good thing she left you there?"

For a moment, that mask dropped, that mask of easy nonchalance and sass and charm that Billy was learning to wear so well and you saw a livid flash of rage, knew you touched a nerve no other person, certainly no other kid at the home touched unless they wanted a fight on their hands. And you knew Billy fought dirty. "What the fuck was that you just said?"

"I didn't say it doesn't hurt. Or that you don't get to be angry with her, or hate her. But if she wasn't ready to raise you...did it ever cross your mind that she could have done worse to you than the system if she'd kept you?" Some of the kids who came to the home had real horror stories to tell and no matter how confidential that information was, word always got around somehow, especially once they made friends and started opening up. Billy heard them. Whether any of that sank in was another matter. "Just think about that."

His response was to drop the ice-cream, cone, napkin and all onto the pavement and walk off, leaving you trailing in his wake to study his stiff posture and clenched fists. When you got into the home, the rest of the kids in the living room were quiet. When Billy was in a mood, that was the usual response. And he could be the life of the party when he wanted to be. 

Billy couldn't hit you, not physically. Anyone else might have borne the brunt of his mercurial temper that way but not you. But he wasn't the forgiving sort either and so you mentally braced yourself when you heard his door open that night and saw him coming down the hallway towards you, lithe and intent as a jaguar on the prowl. "What's it with you and the stairs?" he asked with silky aggressiveness as he draped himself over his chair.

You knew exactly what he meant and for a moment, you hesitated before deciding that Billy could have that if he wanted, if it made him feel better. You could afford to give him that. "It looks a little like the one I had growing up."

"You fall down those steps and break a leg or something?" Billy intoned sarcastically. "Is that why you look like you want to piss yourself sometimes when you think I'm not looking?"

You were a patient person, more so than most. But at the edges of that you felt your temper flare and the slight curl of Billy's mouth and the bright gleam in his dark eyes told you he sensed it although you were sure you had maintained your poker face. "No, I never fell."

"Then what happened?"

You let those words hang in the air between the two of you, let the silence stretch until it was taut. Then you replied, your voice soft, your eyes fixed on his. "My father came up those stairs with a poker in his hands." For the second time that day, you watched Billy's mask unravel. "He wasn't coming for my mother though, like he usually did. He was coming after me."

It was a bit like watching a fish out of water, the way his mouth opened and closed as he groped for the right words. "Shit, Y/N."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I think of it too." You grabbed some of the articles you printed, though the words your eyes glanced over weren't quite registering with your brain.

"I didn't know..."

"Yes you did." You glanced up and Billy looked like you'd slapped him and you wondered if your voice was too hard or if you could even control that. But you had to, so you dialled it down a notch. "You knew Billy. Maybe you didn't know all the details but you knew it was something that couldn't have been good. But you wanted it anyway so there, you got that pound of flesh." 

Then you buried yourself in your books, and ignored Billy, who clearly from his fidgety body language wanted to be anywhere else but there with you but somehow couldn't bring himself to leave. "So why do you still sit here if you get frightened sometimes?"

It was the same thing you'd asked yourself before. "Because I can handle it. You can't run from something, not when it's buried inside you. It'll always come back and if you're not prepared, then you'll get hurt. I found ways to deal with what happened. I saw a therapist." Billy snorted but it lacked the usual derision. "Besides, if an intruder comes sneaking up the stairs, I'll see him first and drop a chair on his head before he gets any further." It was a weak joke but it lightened the moment sufficiently. "I might feel less nervous about an intruder if I knew you were taking self-defence classes though."

"I knew you were going to say that!"

"Yeah, but it's a good deal. Think about it, Kid."

"Do you ever wish you could hurt your dad? For what he did?"

That question came like a bolt from the blue, though you should have expected it. "For the longest time, yes. I didn't want to kill him, I just wanted him to suffer. But when I got older, I changed my mind. Because I don't want to be the person who beats him black and blue, that's not me. I choose to be the person who doesn't give a shit what happens to him because that way, I leave him behind."

You watched as Billy tipped the chair back, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his eyes carefully avoiding yours. "I'm not sure if I can do that," he finally mumbled, darting his gaze up to yours.

"It takes time. And you won't know until...until you do, I suppose."

And that was the end of the conversation that night. In a perfect world, he would have marched to his room, gotten out his books, studied and forgiven his mother. In reality, it took several long weeks and the usual routine of having to take calls from exasperated teachers until one day, Billy decided he would study. You never knew exactly why he made up his mind to do so, only that you were thankful he made the right choice and never looked back. 

The day you told him he'd obtained a better GPA than you had when you'd been his age, he bought you ice-cream.


End file.
